


Batdad Rules

by CloakedSparrow



Series: Collected Bat-Family Stories [11]
Category: Bat Family (DCU), Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Bat Family, Batdad, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Guns, Minor Injuries, No Romance, No Sex, One Shot, Sibling Bonding, Vigilantism, house rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloakedSparrow/pseuds/CloakedSparrow
Summary: Bruce knows he asks a lot of his children. He knows how very strict he is with them. Some say his rules are too rigid, that he’s too dominant, too controlling. Most of the people who say these things don’t have children and they certainly don’t have children who are secretly vigilantes. If they did, they would understand.His rules are in place for a good reason.That's not to say that he doesn't let a certain rule slip every now and then.





	Batdad Rules

Bruce knows he asks a lot of his children. He knows how very strict he is with them. Some say his rules are too rigid, that he’s too dominant, too controlling. Most of the people who say these things don’t have children and they certainly don’t have children who are secretly vigilantes. If they did, they would understand.

Bruce is strict because he needs to keep his children safe. The sort of distractions, lapses in concentration, or unexpected moments of defiance that could mean a bad grade or damaged car for most kids their age and a headache for their parent, could mean a serious injury or death for his children. He doesn’t demand they follow his command just to satisfy some need to feel in control. He can’t take the risk that he calls out an order during a critical moment and the time they take to question it leads to their deaths or the deaths of innocents that they’ll have to carry around the weight of for the rest of their lives.

He’s been worse since Jason. He knows that. Sometimes he makes a sharp remark to Tim or Cassandra and immediately afterwards wishes he could soften it. He doesn’t know how to without risking too much. They seem to understand, for the most part.

He hopes they do, anyway.

His rules are in place for good reason.

But sometimes, he lets them slip. Not often, but on occasion. This generally happens because one of his children are either too hurt or too excited that he can’t bring himself to remind them about a particular rule at the moment. Its especially hard to be bothered with certain rules when his children are breaking them _together_.

Bruce _loves_ seeing his children getting along together. In those moments, everything he’s lost and everything he’s given up feels completely worth it in a way that’s similar but somehow altogether different to when he puts a Rogue behind bars.

For instance, there is a rule about loud music in the Batcave. The Batcave is for training, for focusing on cases or working on their gear and suits. These are tasks that take concentration. They can’t afford to slip up because they were distracted.

So one day, when Bruce heard loud music coming from the cave, he was irritated. His kids knew better. He’d taught them better. But when he went down there to scold the offending party, he found himself stopping short at the sight before him.

The sparring area had been turned into a makeshift dance floor. The stools that normally sat by the workbenches were placed around with napkins and trays of appetizers like waiters at a fancy party. The ‘hors d'oeuvres’ looked familiar; Bruce had been served them by a smiling Dick on several Father’s Days when he was a small boy. They consisted of crackers and mini bagel chips, covered with either almond butter and honey, cheese and apple slices, or hummus and sliced Roma tomato. Each was sprinkled with either cinnamon or paprika to make them look ‘fancy’.

The memories alone would have brought a small smile to Bruce’s face, but the inhabitants of the room were already doing just that.

Dick was wearing one of Bruce’s suit jackets over his jeans and t-shirt. Cassandra was wearing a long, flowing skirt and opera-length gloves over her Wonder Woman tank. They were gliding across the floor in tune to the music as Dick clearly taught Cassandra how to dance.

She was picking it up almost as quickly as she learned new fighting techniques. In fact, her main problem seemed to be that she kept moving as though she were sparring with an opponent instead of dancing with a partner. Dick was wonderful, of course, smiling and encouraging his sister every step of the way.

When the current song ended, they stepped away and Dick offered a bow while Cassandra gave a perfect curtsy. Then Dick offered and arm and Cassandra allowed him to lead her toward one of the appetizer trays. She slipped off a glove in fluid, graceful movements before picking up an appetizer and shoving the entire thing in her mouth. Then she stuffed another in too.

Dick laughed warmly. “Hold up there, Cass. You’re supposed to take little bites. Like this.” He selected an appetizer and demonstrated.

Cassandra looked confused. She held up an appetizer for inspection. “Bite sized.”

“I know, right?” Dick looked happy and proud as he explained to his little sister that it was all about appearances. “Its supposed to be sophisticated. I think the rich people just like feeling like they’re classier than everyone else.”

“We are rich.” Cassandra said it like a fact but looked as if she was asking a question.

Dick seemed to understand perfectly. “Not like the people you’ll meet at this gala. We weren’t _born_ rich, so as far they’re concerned, we’re not as good as them. Personally, I look at it as a challenge. Every time I do something right, its proving that a circus brat can be just as classy as they think _they_ are.”

Cassandra seemed to consider this and then she delicately took another hors d'oeuvre from the tray and took a small bite. She offered Dick a small, sweet smile as she chewed with far more care than she ever did.

It made her brother laugh. “That’s the spirit! We’ll show them we can be just as good as their purebred rich kids.”

They moved back to the dance floor for the next song and Bruce decided to leave them be. They weren’t breaking a rule so much as they were training for a different sort of battle. Besides, they were having fun and he didn’t want to spoil it. He knew how precious and, unfortunately, rare those moments could be.

Another strict rule was the ‘no guns in the manor’ rule. The cave was another story; sometimes a case required them to inspect or become familiar with a certain weapon. Sometimes the local criminals were using a new type of gun and his kids had to learn how to dismantle it or take it out of commission. Sometimes Dick had to come straight from the precinct or Jason had to stop by during or straight after a patrol and it wasn’t reasonable or responsible to demand they leave their guns outside.

But there was no reason why any of his children needed to bring a gun into the manor. It wasn’t _just_ that Bruce personally hated guns. Guns were clumsy and dangerous. Their primary purpose was to kill or cause harm and they could misfire all too easily. No good could come from having them around.

That meant that when Bruce walked past the formal dining room one day and spotted Jason though the doorway, with newspaper laid across the table as he cleaned his guns on it, he was angry. He had already turned with full intent to storm in and lay into his second eldest when he realized Jason was speaking calmly, in Spanish, to someone else in the room. Unsure of what was going on and who else was in his house, Bruce decided to sneak around to the other door and take a peek before letting his presence known.

With Jason, he couldn't be sure what the danger was.

However, when he finally peeked through the crack in the door on the other side of the room, he saw that the person Jason was talking to was Tim. His youngest was speed reading through some documents on his laptop. They could have been for a case, Wayne Enterprises, or a homework assignment. Tim put so much focus into everything he did that it was hard to tell the difference.

Relaxing slightly, Bruce realized that his sons were not actually speaking Spanish, but Portuguese. While they both were fluent in the former, only Jason was fluent in the latter. Or that had been the case. Apparently, Tim had decided to learn Portuguese and Jason was helping him with it. From what Bruce could hear, his youngest was doing well, but was having some trouble conjugating.

Jason would occasionally stop to correct his brother and explain why a verb was conjugated a certain way under certain circumstances but not others. He never sounded irritated or tried to make Tim feel foolish. In fact, he spoke with a gentleness Bruce had all but forgotten the young man possessed.

The lesson aside, his sons seemed to be having a casual conversation about cats, of all things. Tim thought they were more suited pets for a vigilante and Jason conceded his points, but commented that dogs could alert you to intruders and that they could contribute to an exercise regime. Tim pointed out that you could walk, play with and train cats just as you could a dog. Jason laughed at that but then actually took the time to explain that he was laughing at the mental image of someone entering a cat into the agility program at the Gotham Kennel Club. It made Tim laugh too.

The conversation moved on to theories on why cats weren’t allowed in the manor. Tim believed it was because of the extra work they would cause Alfred, shedding and the like. Jason was convinced that Bruce didn’t like them around because they reminded him of Catwoman and that was a touchy subject. Bruce slipped away just as Tim paused in his work to show Jason a video of a cat he’d seen online.

Bruce would never be a fan of guns and would never be pleased to find any in his home, but it was so nice to see Jason and Tim getting along. After the way Jason reacted to Bruce having a new son and Robin, Bruce hadn't been sure they’d ever be able to be left alone in a room together. To see them willingly spending their free time together, talking and laughing, was worth looking the other way for once.

Then there was the 'no pets' rule and the ‘no animals on the grounds’ rule. Bruce had been required to make the distinction back when he only had Dick and the boy’s endless bounds of energy and quick wit to contend with. Dick had technically found a way around the ‘no pets’ rule when he was eleven by giving the macaw he’d somehow acquired to Barbara and agreeing to take care of it for her until she finished high school...possibly college, if she lived in a dormitory that didn’t allow pets. 

The bird now resided in a sanctuary in California. Jim Gordon still laughed whenever he was reminded of the incident. Bruce had to admit (out of his children’s ear shot) that it had been pretty funny and very clever.

While Bruce could financially afford any pets his kids wanted and certainly had the room to house them, he couldn’t help but think of them as a distraction or liability. Normally, a pet helped a child learn responsibility, but his children already had that in spades. They didn’t need to be responsible for yet another thing on top of the duty that weighed them all down. Their schedules were already a nightmare and they hardly had free time as it was, it probably wouldn’t be fair to the pet anyway.

At least, that’s what Bruce reminded himself every time he caught Tim petting or feeding a stray cat while out on patrol. The boy never asked to take them home, but Bruce knew his son wanted to. Cassandra didn’t weigh in on the subject (not that it was openly discussed) but Bruce knew his daughter would quickly come to enjoy having a pet, especially one with reflexes to rival her own.

At first, he didn’t realize the rule had been broken. He was so surprised and pleased to come home late from a business trip and find all of his children fast asleep in the living room together. They were all in their pajamas, except Jason, who had clearly borrowed a pair of Bruce’s sweatpants and a t-shirt. The level of curl visible in each of their hair mean that they’d hastily showered and then crashed without putting any effort into taming the curls into something manageable.

Dick was stretched across the sofa on his stomach with one of his legs dangling over the side and then returning to be held up by an ankle hooked over a cushion. Cassandra was curled up on the other side of the sofa, with her legs just starting to tangle with her brother’s and one of her arms flung over the edge. It wasn’t dangling toward the floor though, instead it was draped over Tim’s knees. The boy was lying on the floor parallel to the sofa, with his knees up and his shoulders and head supported by Jason’s side. The young man was sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa and his head resting on Dick’s thigh.

None of them appeared to be in the most comfortable sleeping position. That, along with the hair and pajamas told Bruce clearly that they’d come back from patrol and been too tired to care. That they’d been together was also clear and that’s what caused Bruce to smile.

The smiled lightened but didn’t fade completely when he notice the bundle of fur and bandages on Tim’s stomach.

“Its a cat, Master Bruce.” Alfred spoke softly as he handed Bruce a cup of tea.

“What did I miss?” Clearly, there was a story here. He’d expected to find his youngest in their rooms and his oldest at their own apartments when he came home. Not that this wasn’t welcomed but Bruce never liked not knowing something. Especially when it involves his kids.

“Killer Croc broke out of Arkham. Your children located him in the sewers and apprehended him. There were no human casualties or significant damage to the city and as you can see, your children are mainly unharmed.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. Killer Croc was not an easy fight, especially in his element. Looking closer, he could see a bruise starting to form on Dick’s jaw and the tell-tale signs of bandages under Tim’s right sleeve. He wanted to check them out himself but he trusted Alfred. If he said they were alright, then they were.

He would still be asking about their injuries and the fight that had caused them later, after his children had rested. For now, he would ask about the most out of place element of the scene.

“And the cat?”

“Was the only casualty of the event. Some bricks landed on her tail and held her underwater. Mistress Cassandra freed her and discovered the extent of her injuries. Master Dick took her to a vet. Her tail was amputated, one of her legs needed stitches and it was discovered that she has conjunctivitis.”

Alfred eyed the creature as if he cold see the germs spreading from her. “Master Tim has requested that he be allowed to care for her until the risk of infection to her wounds has passed and the conjunctivitis has cleared. At that point, it is my understanding that Master Jason will be taking her home.”

Bruce frowned. “I thought Jason preferred dogs.”

Alfred responded with a look Bruce received with increasing regularity as he adopted more children. It was a look that mean the had completely missed something that should have been clear. It was a look that meant he needed to take stock of his children beyond their secret identities.

He suddenly thought of the macaw. It made his smile return. “He’s keeping her for Tim.”

Alfred’s answering smile was filled with pride. “I believe so.”

Normally, Bruce would refuse the cat’s presence and instead pay for her to stay in an animal hospital or kennel until she was healed. But looking at his children, he couldn’t send away the reminder that they’d been there for each other. That they were a team as both the Bat Family _and_ the Wayne family.

“Then it can stay. Just until its healed.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Bruce may have a lot of rules in place for his children. He may demand a lot from them. He may not be great at telling them how proud he is of them. But he has his little ways of showing them how much they mean to him. He thinks they see that. He hopes they do.

If they ever have any doubts, at least they have each other. He gave them that too.


End file.
